Once again, Lorenzo’s eyebrows crinkle as he takes me in, but this time the displeasure fades quickly when he slaps a book down onto the table, then folds his arms in triumph. Now it’s my turn to be surprised. The unassuming book with an oddly dramatic title in large letters on the cover—something about a slot machine and a broken test tube—is unmistakably an autobiography of Salvador Edward Luria. I am sure I noticed the book on the shelf, but being one of the few with a dust jacket, I dismissed its significance.
“Have you checked inside?” I ask him as I reach for the book.
Lorenzo appears less sure now and shakes his head as he uncrosses his arms.
“No, I found this in the same bookcase as the other you found. But on a lower shelf. I thought I would help you while you were gone. But I did not look inside because I do not think I will understand this kind of writing. Is this the book you are looking for?”
I open the pages and look inside the front and back covers, but find nothing remarkable. When I turn the book over and shake the pages, a small white envelope, the kind used to accompany flowers or gifts, drops out and clunks onto the table. There is something solid and metallic inside, like a coin. When I pick up and examine the front, I see a string of carefully written letters in Albert’s distinctive handwriting,
cwqlgtdsucuskwafysjsyw
“What is this?” asks Mrs Bellacci, peering over my shoulder. “The nonsense scribblings of a child.”
“Never. Not with Albert. This is a code I need to break.”
I carefully open the envelope and tip the pouch upside down. A bronze key clatters out onto the table.
Chapter Fourteen
Files
The code is easy to crack, one of the simpler systems Albert taught me. An alphabet shift with one letter substituted for another. After a couple of attempts, once I realise the letter C corresponds to the letter K and T tallies with B, the riddle is solved. As I work through the rest of the code, everyone stares at me.
“Key to black case in garage.”
Mrs Bellacci shakes her head at the fuss, but I know Albert went to this trouble for a reason. Even if someone had found the envelope with the key, it’s unlikely they would know about our obsession with cyphers.
“Did Albert stow anything in the garage?”
“Not that I am aware—” begins Romano.
“Yes, he did,” says Mrs Bellacci. “Boxes. Things he did not need in the house. But I don’t know if there is a black case. We shall go and check.”
At the back of the grounds behind the lemon grove, the double garage turns out to be something I had mistaken for a wooden-slatted outhouse. Only as we draw closer do I realise the door is double-fronted, and the building stands before a rough gravel track that leads back to the villa’s front gate.
Lorenzo unlocks the heavy padlocks, and I help him open one of the doors, which swings outwards remarkably easily. Inside is not what I had been expecting. I had envisaged cobwebs, dust and clutter but am met with a well-organised space containing a seated lawnmower and the silhouettes of three motorcycles. When Lorenzo flicks a wall switch, bright neon lighting bleaches the room, and I recognise one of the bikes from when I first arrived, the black BMW sitting outside Pensione Galli. There is a steel rack along the back wall filled with wooden crates, large plastic storage containers and cardboard packing boxes.
“Where do we start?” I ask.
“The plastic crates belong to Mrs Bellacci. Do not touch them unless you want your hand cut off,” Lorenzo says with a sly smile.
Mrs Bellacci tuts and gives him one of her humoured looks as she shuffles towards the cardboard boxes. “Those contain my professional wardrobes and accessories. Things I might take with me when I am on assignment.”
“Perhaps you could introduce Aksel tola contessaone night?” says Lorenzo, going over to help her.
“I have work to do and meals to prepare,” she says, pulling open one box after another. Lorenzo checks containers on the top shelf that are out of her reach.
Dr Romano leans into me and whispers. “One of Mrs Bellacci’s skills is her range of disguises. I have worked with them both foralmost seven years now, and I am always amazed at how she can perform such transformations so quickly.”
“Once we begin his training,” she says, not turning from her labours, “I will start with basic camouflage lessons, and together, we’ll develop a few simple disguises for him to adopt.”
“Hey, Aksel,” says Lorenzo, turning and nodding at the motorbikes. “Do you remember how to ride?”
Dr Romano turns to smile at me.
“As far as I know, I have never driven a car or ridden a bike,” I reply, looking over at the collection of machines.
“Then we will need to add another skill to your list,” says Lorenzo. “One I will gladly teach you.”